Masks on the Street
by Reckless Bard
Summary: A series of flash ficlets that look at the years of Kira through the eyes of the incidental players, the ordinary citizens as they adjust, in their own ways, to this new order of things - the masks on the street. Updates Monday, Wednesday and Friday.
1. December 1, 2006: Paranormal Nut

The phone had no sooner stopped ringing than it started up again. Mike sighed and stood up from the dinner table to go and answer it.

It was Jocelyn. "Hey... I was just wondering if you got that link I sent you?"

He had, in fact. Jocelyn would eat up any paranormal malarkey sent her way, and thought passing it one was some kind of sacred duty. "Yeah, I saw it. I take it you believe it, then?" (A stronger hint than he usually gave; perhaps this time she'd take it.)

"Well, you know, it's that, or some bunch of spooks suddenly decided to be way, way more competent than we have any reason to believe." Leave it to Jocelyn to limit the options to magic and CIA cabals.

"Uh-huh." He fished for a segue. "Well, if this does turn out to be the case, I definitely have to object to the nomenclature."

"How so?"

"Well, I mean – _Kira?_ An agent of righteous divine punishment, and they think they can do it justice by pronouncing a bland word with a Japanese accent? The creep of Engrish just has to be stopped, I'm telling –"

"Yeah?" Jocelyn plowed over him. "What would you call it?"

"What? Er... The Shadow, I guess. You know – _who knows what evil lurks in the hea-_"

"Yeah, I got the reference, thanks."


	2. December 6, 2006: Wonder

The cluttered apartment rang with unusual silence as Marc paused the footage; Guy's guitar was bathed in the white glow of the television.

"It's official, then," Marc finally managed.

"I think we owe Elise an apology?" said Guy, eyelids flickering like a slow beast's tongue trying to take it all in.

Elise looked oddly listless, for the girl who'd been flogging the Kira thing up and down every forum she'd ever frequented. "I suppose."

"What's up?" said Marc. "Think you're a serial killer by night?"

"No," she muttered, "I'm good on that front, it's just... the thing about magic in the world is it's unknowable, it gives you a sense of wonder. When it starts dictating international policy, well... it just loses something there."

"Oh, come on!" said Marc, exasperated. "You're not excited by _that_, just because it happens to be real?"

"Not what I said. But I'm sure it would all be very exciting if we were likely to see any of it."

"What I don't understand," said Guy, "is... well, why television? What kind of death-spirit or whatever it is has to rely on, I don't know, satellite reception to do anything?"

"Yeah, I'd definitely like L to get back to us on that one," said Marc. Kira had started small, said the broadcast; Marc didn't think he'd stop at the high-profile.


	3. December 20, 2006: Romantic Moment

_Author's Note: This seems a good place to mention that I consider both manga and anime to be canon when I can. When they conflict, the anime gets precedence – hence the timeline – but expect mentions of things exclusive to the manga or the anime._

Yuri watched Light disappear into the crowd, deciding that he wasn't worth her time after all.

Oh, he was top of the class and handsome as anything, but he never showed any interest in what she had to say throughout the entire date – a lot of what came out of her mouth was babble, Yuri was sure, to put their minds back on Space Land after what happened, but a good boyfriend would understand that.

This conversation clinched it, though. She shared his desire never to mention the busjacking to anyone ever again, but for very different reasons. Did he really consider this some kind of _romantic moment?_ What was the _matter_ with him?


	4. December 31, 2006: River

A moment passed. Officer Sakamoto took a furtive glance about the room, only to see that everyone else was doing the same. Then, abruptly, one middle-aged fellow rose from his seat. The sound of chairs being pushed back began to cascade. He became actuely aware of the heart beating in his chest. After a moment, he rose from his chair himself.

The line at the door was so densely packed, it began to look like a river. It reminded Sakamoto of an old movie he'd seen once – something about fleeing a beseiged city – and for the first time, he sympathized with those people.

He glanced back. A few masochists were hanging back after all; that fellow with green written all over his face who'd been raising stupid points was clinging to his chair as though he was afraid it would buck him. A fleeting doubt came across Sakamoto's mind. Surely he'd be of more use to the team than that?

He shook his head sharply and rejoined the flow. This New Year – and hopefully, for many more after that – he'd be with his family.


	5. January 8, 2007: Reluctance

"Dad, the drama will come out on DVD," said Hikaru Kitamura, hoping she didn't sound as petulant as she thought she did. "The news won't."

"Maybe," said Dad with a long-suffering sigh, "but I get an earful of news every day as it is. I need a break from time to time, Hikaru."

"Chief Yagami been bugging you again?" said Mom, walking over to the couch.

Dad nodded and submitted to the shower of sympathy. During the confusion, Hikaru walked up to the TV and turned the channel to the Golden News.

It wasn't that Hikaru was big about keeping up on things – although she was. The anchor was rehashing all the generally empty official statements on the FBI agents' deaths with his usual rigid poise, and there was nothing to hear here that she hadn't already heard countless times, but to _see_… well, that was another matter. One of the pictures of the agents, the young Japanese man with the angular jaw, looked rather like a man she'd seen on the subway a couple of times and thought quite handsome. It was at once macabre and pathetic, she knew, but a part of her still got a thrill at the notion.

"Hikaru," grunted Dad, evidently jerking back to life, "I believe I made it quite –"

"Mom, Dad, look!" By the banner scrolling across the screen, things with Kira were getting thick indeed.

"Fifteen hundred?" said Dad. "Good. Maybe the NPA won't have to bother with this any more."

Hikaru couldn't stand the way Dad talked about his job, as though it were something menial to be avoided at all costs, but she'd learned long ago not to start _that_ particular argument.

But then, she realized, she probab ly _did_ want to start things with him, deep down. Otherwise, she would have realized sooner that she could just look up the pictures online.


	6. February 11, 2007: Glass

The 7-11 at the crossroads caught Carlos' eye for some reason. He hadn't been back to town for five years, and a lot had changed, but a convenience store didn't seem much worth the attention.

Then it slid into place. The wrought iron over the windows and door was gone. All that was left was bright, clear glass.

"Hungry?" said Jordan.

"Not really. It's just... I'm realizing that nobody's going to rob that convenience store any time soon."

"Good one, bright boy," said Jordan, shaking his head. But he didn't understand – it was one thing to hear about the decrease in crime, and quite another to be able to touch the evidence. He walked slowly towards the window, somehow charged with happiness for a 7-11 he'd never given more than a cursory thought to.

"Didn't you write a letter to the editor against the death penalty?" yelled Jordan after him.

He had – the argument was that it was no good as a deterrent. But he'd only just realized that they did, in fact, disagree on Kira, so he decided he'd better stop admiring the windows and start minimizing the arguments ahead.


	7. April 13, 2007: Hackwork

The boss was the boss – which made it manifestly clear that Kenji should have kept his job options open a bit longer. In hindsight, he'd have accepted any other network in Tokyo. Come to think of it, he'd have accepted a job at _18_ Magazine.

Kenji wrote the scripts for the evening anchors, and over the three years he'd been with Sakura TV, he'd tried to make sure these scripts were based as much on the full footage as was reasonably possible. His career was perpetually within a thread's width of coming to an abrupt end, so he supposed he'd have to make it up somehow. He just wished that it didn't involve playing to some grandiose hoaxster.

The only thing that could be worse would be if the tapes were genuine. Then it wouldn't just be a matter of throwing in the towel and feeding a base ratings stunt – every word he wrote could endanger the anchors' lives. But he couldn't know – Demegawa, who had revealed his share of classified information over the years (some of it quite possibly genuine), was suddenly guarding the tapes' contents as zealously as the most dedicated official. This seemed, all in all, a bad sign.

It could still be worse, he told himself. If he were in charge of gathering the photographs, tabloid hackwork wouldn't figure at all into the weight on his conscience.


	8. April 18, 2007: Ready Room

Midori stared, appalled. Not only was Dr. Becker watching television in the ready room, but so were no less than four other doctors. They were talking so fervently that it was no wonder they were deaf to the intercom.

"Turn that off!" she snapped. "Or I'll report you all!"

"This is sort of important," shouted one of the younger doctors.

"Important like the fact that _Dr. Becker has a missing patient?_"

Becker waved a hand for silence; the volume on the TV lowered; and he got to his feet, sounding befuddled even through the German accent. "Okay. I'm listening. Where from?"

"Room 176."

He kneaded his forehead. "Serious condition. Lovely. All right, get –"

The intercom broke in over the deep synth-voice on the television. _"All personnel be advised that an ambulance has been hijacked from the west garage. I repeat –"_

The doctor made a low whistle. "Please oh please tell me there are two different emergencies going on. Well," he added, jerking his thumb at the TV, "three, I should say."

Midori rolled her eyes and escorted Dr. Becker out so he might actually do his job.


	9. April 19, 2007: A Dark, Secluded Place

_Author's Note: This was actually completed on time, but FFN has been borking my Document Manager for the past few days. At least you can know the next update is tomorrow!_

"All right," said Paul, getting abruptly to his feet. "There is a time and a place to sit around watching TV, and that time and place doesn't involve the anchors on said TV dropping dead."

The classic Paul momentum was mounting, and Stephen would have to interfere early if he was to prevent him doing something stupid. "What, are you planning on joining the investigation or something? Because no offense, but you're not exactly…"

"No. No, nothing like that. I don't know what yet, but… I've got to keep things like this from happening."

"Tough one, Paul – these people have been in the public eye for _years._"

Paul nodded with an ill-boding gleam in his eyes. "That's a thought. You've got to be heard, but not be in the public eye… yeah, I've got just the thing. 47 Voices!"

"Sorry, what?"

"Forty-seven. You know, because… oh, I'll just give you the book later. It's a website. With anonymous handles, needless to say." His voice gathered tempo. "I'll contact newscasters, leave the options open, and they can write whatever they damn well want to. And if other people jump on the bandwagon, it's not as though I can tell anyway, and they should feel free."

Stephen blinked and rose from the sofa. "Actually, Paul, that's… that's not a bad idea. It's even within your budget for once."

"Excellent!" said Paul, striding in the direction of the study. "Oh, and call me Hernando."

"Er, Hernando?"

"It's a song. You cover the Spanish and French, manage the website, I'll cover German, and we need a Japanese speaker fast. I really hope that Tanakabara fellow won't be dead by then."

For the first time since the used bookstore scheme, Stephen found himself fully enthusiastic.


	10. April 26, 2007: Conversations

A woman's voice (name not given) crackled out of the radio. "What I think is going on, Joe, is that Kira knows he's come on too strong and he's trying to take it ba-"

"Then tell me this, ma'am," said Joe Barringer in his usual strident tones. "Tell me why he even needed to broadcast about finding himself yesterday, and we'll be good."

"I, er... I think it's –"

"Answer the question!"

"Verisimilitude, and how many supernatural agents of death do you think there are, anyway? Anyway, if I were you, I'd try and be cautious –"

"You're new, aren't you?" trumpeted Barringer. "But just a hint – I'm not hiding my name. And you know why? Because I've got nothing to hide. Look at that, folks, _another_ anonymous caller from Albuquerque..."

Liz crinkled her nose as she rounded the bend. Barringer was an ass, and the only stations willing to have an actual discussion were strongly slanted against Kira. It seemed all attempts to make sense of the Second Kira were going to have to fall, once again, to the Internet.


	11. May 29, 2007: Gossip

"So Misa-Misa came to the campus?" asked Hide with undue excitement.

"Yeah, I saw her!" said Miu, nodding. "But I thought you weren't interested in idols?"

She blushed. "Oh, well, I watch Eyes on the Stars anyway. For the game shows. But didn't you hear? Her manager's been on drugs!"

"I guess that interview is off till she finds a new one, then. And they were going to ask her about getting into films, too!" Miu frowned. "Say, this manager... sharp face? Wing glasses?"

"That sounds right," said Hide, sipping her coffee. "I guess you really di-"

"Those _bastards._"

Hide hacked on the coffee that had gone down the wrong pipe. "Oh," she said when she'd recovered, flushing furiously. "Oh, I didn't think of that. But you don't think drug possession will get you killed these days, do you?"

"Hide-chan, I heard there was this guy who stole some college student's _purse_."

Hide sighed. "Well, that conversation took a turn for the depressing. Tell you what... once afternoon classes are over, meet me for pickup tennis?"

"No thanks. I'm still feeling a little inadequate on that front."


	12. June 5, 2007: Repose

All down the street, storefronts were smashed in. A mannequin lay bare on the pavement, and half-drunk boxes of beer lay all around. The police had come for the stragglers, but as they were in this city, they'd failed to meet the brunt of the riot.

"Mum, is Kira gone?" asked little Clarissa, staring, appalled, at what they'd hoped would be a shopping expedition.

"No," said Mum firmly. "No, he's testing us. The people who did this failed the test." Of course.

"Right," snorted Joanne. "Testing us so we keep legitimate law enforcement around next time. If there is a next time and L _hasn't_ got him. It's like those movie villains that have people addicted to antid-"

Mum's lips formed a thin line. "It is nothing like that at all. One of these days, we'll live in a shining city all by ourselves. This only means that it's not yet."

How could she have such faith in humanity and still believe that everyone Kira killed deserved to die? Joanne would risk grounding any time, but as she glanced at Mum's fiery gaze, saying this seemed somehow irreparable.


	13. July 6, 2007: Dark Looks

"Niizuma-san," said a woman from the office atonally, "if there's anything I can get you, let me know."

She passed, and Ami, in her daze, could feel her watching out of the corner of her eye. She glanced behind her – three strangers looked hastily away. Idiots, she thought bitterly. Did they honestly believe that heart disease dropped off the face of the earth the instant the judgments began?

But her brother had been thirty. She'd have to learn to expect people muttering darkly about what he might have done, how she surely must have known... it was only the way of the world.

But you've known him, she cried silently. You're strangers to me so you must have known him, so how did you miss that he was too strait-laced to abscond with a desk pen? He was a salaried middle manager, and if he'd even embezzled he wouldn't have had to share an apartment with his _sister, _and...

And he was thirty, and a daily jogger, and everyone knew it. Ami felt a wave of sickly doubt lap through her, despite herself, and she sank down in one of the high-backed chairs and tried to think of absolutely nothing at all.

_Author's Note: Disguise of Carnivorism, now that I've seen your reviews, I seriously wish I'd gone with that more interconnected route with my story. I reckon it's too late at this point, but on the other hand, I think you'll really like what I've planned for the intermission and beyond._


End file.
